


Glam Boy.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Category: LOTR RPS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-03
Updated: 2003-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note: Show us a photo and our minds snap. This is the result of <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/thalassatx/62393.html">Vig in eyeliner</a> and the detour our brains took in IM. When it was said and done, it was 300 words, a triple drabble (or technically, I guess, a ficlet).</p>
    </blockquote>





	Glam Boy.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Show us a photo and our minds snap. This is the result of [Vig in eyeliner](http://www.livejournal.com/users/thalassatx/62393.html) and the detour our brains took in IM. When it was said and done, it was 300 words, a triple drabble (or technically, I guess, a ficlet).

"Vig, stop putting on lipstick and get over here. I'm thinkin' I've tripped back to the bloody '80s."

"Are you high again, master?" Viggo tsks-tsks disapprovingly and walks over, swaying his hips.

"Fuck, Vig. You look like you been hiding out in Bowie's dressing room." Sean takes a long hit off the joint. "Me? High? Not quite."

"And you look like you escaped from your adolescence." He takes the joint.

"Hey. Don't be bogarting that thing." Sean lunges for Viggo, misses, topples off the bed. "Ouch. You smoked half of it within seconds of rolling."

"And who's fault is that?"

Sean pulls himself up against the bed. "Who's fault is what?"

"That you can't stand up."

"Who said I can't stand up?" Sean grabs hold of the duvet, not the LOTR one, since it was sticky and had to be washed, but the basic black one, and steadies himself. "I can so stand up. Not drunk." He proceeds to demonstrate, first kneeling up and then getting to one foot before falling back on the floor, the slick fabric of the bedcover slipping from his fingers. "Fuck't. Floor's nice."

"Didn't say you were drunk, said you were stoned."

"Drunk can't walk. Stoned can." Sean pulls himself to hands and knees, pushing up more slowly this time, not relying on the bed to help. In a matter of minutes, give or take five, he's on his feet, staring at the mirror. "See, Vig."

Viggo crosses his arms. "I'm not impressed."

Sean spins on heel, manages not to fall back down. "You are absolutely no fun when you're stoned." The words are carefully enunciated, painstakingly not the Sheffield-speak Sean lapses into when he's drinking. He punctuates the thought with his tongue, stuck out.

"Nope," Viggo agrees. But Sean's rather cute while _he_ is.


End file.
